The man braced himself. The time was not yet.
“Hush, my lady. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Listen. You don’t understand. It’s—it’s not what you think, Simon.” The man looked at her sharply. “I’m in the most awful trouble. I’m—I’m being blackmailed.”
“Blackmailed?”
The girl slid a letter into his hand.
“Read that,” she said. “Sit down here and read it. And then come and find me again. I’ll be in front of the weighing-room.”
Simon lifted his hat and turned away.
Mechanically he took a few steps: then he sat down on a seat and tilted his hat over his eyes.
12, Clock Lane,
Crutched Friars.